


Storyteller

by megaweapon



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megaweapon/pseuds/megaweapon
Summary: The Ghost had already survived many perils in his life. He’d flown through Darkness-infested wastelands, hidden from harm in the territories of his enemies, and pushed himself to the limits of his individual strength in places far, far from the Traveler’s Light. Now, he found himself face-to-face with a handful of inquisitive children, which was somehow just as terrifying. (Originally Submitted to v1 of Written in Light)





	Storyteller

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this up for a Destiny fanzine project, and never got around to posting it. Since I'm still gearing up towards the next big story, I thought I'd add this into the smaller ones I'm tossing up until then. 
> 
> This is only marginally connected to The Howling Art, but if you've already read that one, it shouldn't be too difficult to guess who this Ghost turns out to be!

Almost every Ghost lived a full life before they met their Guardian.

The lucky few found theirs only hours after creation, but for the rest, it took years, decades, or even centuries. The Ghost had seen so much since the Traveler died. He’d seen the desperation of humanity coalesce into the small, ramshackle encampment in the Traveler’s shadow. He’d seen that encampment rise, girding itself with walls. He’d seen the first Guardians step forward, and say to the ever-encroaching Darkness:  _ No more. This is where your shadow ends, and our Light begins. _

It was all very inspiring, of course, but it hadn’t helped him find his Guardian.

He ventured off-world, wandering through the ruins of humanity’s achievements until his fading Light forced him to return to the Traveler to gather his strength. In those first lonely years, he discovered something that was more wonderful than he ever could have imagined.

He discovered stories.

He found them while plundering the databanks of abandoned outposts, searching scattered and half-destroyed homesteads, or combing through the ruins of cities. He found them in books, those rare and fragile things, which he lovingly scanned, page by page. Losing himself in the world of their words eased the loneliness for a time.

Through the centuries, he’d amassed an incredible wealth of stories. He shared them with the City every chance he got, knowing that each journey into the unknown might be his last. Sometimes he wondered whether that would be his only legacy.

During one of his resting periods in the City, he first heard about the Hunter Vanguard’s “special duty.”

* * *

“Cayde-6?”

Cayde-6 glanced up towards the unfamiliar voice. His first instinct, upon seeing the lone Ghost floating before him, was to look around to see where its Guardian had wandered off to. 

“Just Cayde is fine. What can I help you with, little guy?”

The Ghost’s optic flickered rapidly.  _ Here goes nothing. _ “I hear that you’re taking volunteers to look after children. On the days when they go out to the field to play.”

“Yep.”

“I’d like to volunteer.”

Cayde-6 regarded the Ghost for a moment longer and straightened from where he’d been stooped over his map. “Really? Do you... think your Guardian might be one of them?”   
  


“Oh! Oh, no. No, my Guardian’s still dead,” the Ghost replied, “Still waiting for me to find him. It’s just - on the days when I have to be here, in the City, well... I’d like to help. A little.”

“You’re definitely the first Ghost who’s ever volunteered for the job, but I don’t see why not. Now, how exactly are you going to entertain these kids?” Cayde-6 peered at the Ghost. “You’re not going to let them use you as a dodge ball, are you?”

He laughed. “No, no. I’m going to tell them stories.”

* * *

The Ghost had already survived many perils in his life. He’d flown through Darkness-infested wastelands, hidden from harm in the territories of his enemies, and pushed himself to the limits of his individual strength in places far, far from the Traveler’s Light. Now, he found himself face-to-face with a handful of inquisitive children, which was somehow just as terrifying.

They lingered near him as he began his very first story, more because of their curiosity at being so close to a Ghost than anything else, but when he returned the next day, one of the children prompted him for another tale, and then another, and another, until he’d amassed a small but loyal audience. Sharing a story over a public database was one thing, but the Ghost discovered a new joy in telling his tales face-to-face. This was what a story was for - sharing. Telling.

It was a lovely diversion, and a balm for the sting of being without a Guardian, but it had to end eventually. Once his Light was strong enough to venture forth again, he announced his departure.

“When’ll you come back?” one of the children asked.

“Not likely for another few months, I think.”

This was met with a chorus of “Aww”s from the children. The Ghost was surprised and delighted to know he’d be missed. 

“Well, when I come back, I’ll look for you. In the meantime, think about what sorts of stories you might like to hear. And,” he added, with a sudden burst of optimism, “if I find my Guardian, I’ll bring him to meet you!”

He did not find his Guardian. He did, however, find himself with a much larger audience when he returned. Word of the eccentric lone Ghost had spread. They called him “Storyteller.”

The Ghost soon learned that horror stories were far and away the most popular with children. They seemed to delight in the grotesque and the frightening. He landed himself in a bit of trouble when a tale gave one of his audience members nightmares, and from there on he selected his more macabre offerings with greater care.

Once, a child asked, “What’s your real name?”

“Oh, well, I don’t have one yet.”

“Why not?”

The Ghost had to pause and consider this. “Well, I... I was rather hoping my Guardian would name me. When I found him.”

“What if you don’t?” a young boy asked. Almost immediately he was elbowed by the child sitting next to him.

“I will,” the Ghost responded softly, “I  _ know _ I will.”

As time passed, he switched from his usual short-story offerings to a single book, which he read aloud over the course of several days. Months faded into years, and some of the children went away over time. Every now and then one of them would recognize that they wouldn’t be coming back, and would tell him good-bye.

There were times, when he was out in the field, surrounded by chaos and death, that he thought about those quiet moments in the heart of the City. He thought about the children staring at him, hanging on his every word, caught up in their own imaginations - which he’d learned were incredibly expansive for such small creatures.

It helped.

The Ghost wasn’t ignorant of the passage of time, but it somehow didn’t become real to him until one day when one of the parents approached him after one of his stories. “I don’t believe it,” she said with a small smile. “You’re still here.”

“Oh. Uh, yes.” The Ghost swiveled to face her. “But...have we met?”

The woman laughed. “I guess it’s been a while since we saw each other. You used to tell me stories, a long time ago. Me and my brother both. I think it was back when you first came around.” 

The Ghost searched her face and realized that the woman before him had been a part of his very first audience.

“I remember you!” he said. “You loved Kipling the best.”

Her smile broadened. “I still do. Maybe my son will, too.” She nodded to the field, towards an Awoken boy who was chasing bugs with a handful of other children. “Or maybe...he won’t. Either way, it’s good to see you. It was rough, growing up in those dark times. You helped make them a little brighter, Storyteller.”

The Ghost was, for a moment, humbled to a loss of words. “It’s good to see you, too,” he finally replied, “and I’m glad. I’m glad I could help.”

Her son turned out to be interested in stick-fighting rather than storytelling, but sat in for the occasional tale. The Ghost continued to come and go. He saw more children grow into parents, and then into grandparents. Once, he saw one of the children outside the City, grown and accompanied by a Ghost.

_ Not _ my _ Guardian, _ he thought to himself with wonder,  _ but a Guardian nonetheless. _

And despite himself, he felt a pang of loneliness and longing.  _ I’ll find you, _ he promised.  _ I’ll find you. _

But until then…

Until then there was the City, and the people who lived there. He’d often thought that his life wouldn’t truly start until he found his Guardian, but when he thought of the girl he’d watched grow into a grandmother, he realized that his life, and his mission - to spread the Light - had begun long ago. It came to him one evening, as he was preparing to leave the City in the light of the setting sun.

_ You made me, _ he thought, turning towards the Traveler,  _ and you made me for a reason. I wonder if you knew this would happen. I think you did. I think it was important, somehow, to know what it felt like to be alone. To learn to give. To come to know the people that live here, that  _ make _ this city, and to remember what it is we’re fighting for. _

The impassive pale bulk of his creator offered nothing, leaving the Ghost to venture forth into the gathering shadows of dusk.  


End file.
